


I Dream of You (But It's Not The Sweet Kind)

by SereneCalamity



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SereneCalamity/pseuds/SereneCalamity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never really dreamed of a happily ever after. Good thing she wasn't that kind of girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Dream of You (But It's Not The Sweet Kind)

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story was inspired by a line in a Lorde song. This couple is so gorgeous. Jeremy Renner is orgasmic and ScarJo is stunning. They're a kickass couple, if only it could be. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.

Natasha Romanov never really had those nice dreams.

Where she found that perfect man and they had a perfect life and they had the perfect ever after.

But that was okay; because she didn't believe in those kind of endings.

* * *

To say that their relationship had started off rocky would have been an understatement.

Clint Barton had been sent to kill Natasha Romanov, the assassin known as Black Widow.

He had shot a bow at her from two buildings over, through a tiny opening in a window, and got her right through the shoulder, pinning her to the wall. She had been about to interrogate a high ranking CIA agent that she had been ordered to get information from; for who, they weren't sure, but they knew it wasn't going to be for anything good.

He had then made two large leaps across the roof tops of the tiny buildings of the Greek town and smashed through the window, slamming the knife that was in his boot into the wall beside her head—a warning if she decided to try and get away from him.

He was gorgeous, in a rough kind of way.

Natasha stared at him, not blinking or showing any sign of pain at the arrow that was buried deep in her shoulder. Nothing except several drops of sweat that was gathering at her brow line, in the deep red hair that was pulled back in a tight ponytail. She watched him carefully, seeing the indecision in his eyes as he stared down at her, before his expression clearing as he made up his mind and stepped back from her, jerking his knife from the wall and sliding it back into his sheath.

The CIA agent was groaning and attempting to scream from behind the gag that Natasha had shoved into his mouth. Neither of the specialized humans paid any attention to them as they continued to stare at each other. Natasha swallowed hard, her hand moving slowly up from her side and gripping the arrow firmly. She let out a grunt and for the first time, she let out a sign of pain, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes as she pulled the arrow out.

"Lead the way," Clint growled at her, nodding toward the door, not risking letting her out of his sight for a second. His eyes were narrow as he watched every move she made, raising one hand up to his ear to tap his comm, alerting Nick Fury to the fact that they were coming in, and the CIA agent had to be picked up. Blood was dripping onto the ground as they walked slowly down the stairs, trickling down Natasha's arm and soaking through the material of her leather shirt. Her feet were dragging slightly on the floor as she reached the second storey floor and Natasha chewed down viciously on her lower lip, trying to contain the mutters of pain that she wanted to let out.

The last thing she remembered was her vision spotting, and the handsome man in the leather vest with the bow and arrow wrapping an arm around her waist and looking down at her worriedly.

* * *

Natasha remembered every single step of her childhood.

She remembered the first person she had killed. She didn't know who they were at the time, or what they had done to deserve a death where they didn't even deserve to see the face of the person carrying out the sentence. She didn't question her orders as she lifted the gun and delivered the shot to the main who was tied to the chair with a burlap bag over their head. She started reliving the second and the third kill, the girl who was only fifteen that she had silently walked up behind and broken the neck of. She had been trained not to think about this, not to give it a second thought, and she had always been able to do that; given she was always busy and always had something to focus on. But she had nothing right now.

For days she drifted in and out of consciousness. Later on she found out that it had been almost a week. It was a mixture of the blood loss from her shoulder wound and the sedation that the SHIELD director, Fury, had ordered the doctors to administer.

Apparently, Hawkeye had never left her side.

When she finally woke up, and turned her head to the side, feeling groggy but definitely better than the other times she had opened her, she saw him. He was sitting in the uncomfortable looking seat next to the hospital bed, wearing grey sweatpants and a blue button down shirt. He was fast asleep, his chin resting on his chest. Natasha had thought to herself about how stupid he was, falling asleep next to her—a trained, deadly assassin.

But the second she moved, he had spoken.

"You're handcuffed, you're still heavily sedated, my gun is in my hand and there are six guards outside."

Natasha blinked a couple of times, looking down at herself and seeing that both hands were cuffed to the sides of the bed. And it wasn't the normal kind of handcuffs either, that she could pick in a second and slip out of. She flexed her hands and they tightened around her wrists and emitted a sharp electric shock.

* * *

The adjustment had been...Good times.

It took _years_ for her to adjust to SHIELD's way of things.

To begin with, it was the fact that she was basically detoxing. They made her see a counselor, while being handcuffed and guarded. After six hours a week of absolute silence from her part for nearly three months, they had given up on that idea, and they had turned to Clint, the man who had brought her in in the first place.

And somehow, that worked.

Except at night, when she was getting a full eight hours of time to herself with nothing to do—no TV, no computer, no books—which was probably intended to sleep, but for the most part it was just her tossing and turning in the tiny bunk that was assigned to her. The nightmares reminded her of everything that she had done, and made her think back on those second thoughts that had always niggled at the back of her mind when it had happened. The voice she had ignored for so long because the knew that if she let herself think about for too long, she would second guess everything she had stood for, had trained for.

And it was one stupid archer that had made up her mind.

She trained harder than she ever had before—she didn't even realize that was possible.

She listened to her voice of reason.

She learned to distinguish the right from wrong.

She let herself almost befriend Maria Hill and Phil Coulson.

And she fell for partner, Clint Barton.

* * *

The first time that Hawkeye and Black Widow had fallen together had been when she was on her second mission as a SHIELD agent. It had involved a group of younger females who had been planted as sleeper cells throughout Europe and without any warning, turned on their friends and family—some of whom had access to some very high power targets. Clint didn't ask her how she was feeling, or if she was doing okay because he knew that's not what she wanted. He followed her lead, and let her take charge.

They found the man responsible for starting this mess and Natasha killed him. They had backed him into a corner, and he was on the point of surrendering when she had lashed out, the knife flying from her hand so quickly that Clint wouldn't have had time to react and stop her, even if he had wanted too.

He had reported back to SHIELD, saying that there was no other choice.

That night, they had gotten drunk and he had kissed her on their way back to the hotel that they were staying. It was when she was trying to find the swipe key in her purse but everything was blurring together due to the half bottle of vodka that she had finished off. Clint's hand had rested over hers, stopping her movements, and Natasha looked up at him, a question on her face, and he had reached in and pressed his mouth to hers.

It had only been the slightest touch, a whisper, and she had jerked back, glaring at him.

Clint held up his hands as if to placate her, and she had looked back down at her purse, finding the swipe card and slipping it into the lock. She kicked the door open and Clint took a moment before following her, feeling more than a little nervous about being alone with her. But by the time he walked inside and shut the door, Natasha was pulling off the last scrap of clothing —her lacy thong —and was lunging at him.

Natasha had thought about this moment long and hard.

Clint had been the one to rescue her from the life that she had been forced into, and he had brought her into _another_ life that she didn't really have an option about, but it was so different. They _cared_ about her. They liked her. And he was always there for her. He sparred with her when she needed a partner, he argued with her when she needed to vent, and he made her smile when she felt like everything was going to collapse.

The moment was everything she needed and wanted.

It was rough, and it was hard, and his fingers buried deep in the tight hole of her ass while his tongue laved away at her shaven pussy made her tip over the edge again and again. They tore down the curtains and the broke the bed side lamp, and the third and final round for the night was spent in the shower.

* * *

They weren't a common couple —they didn't hold hands when going for walks and they didn't go to the movies on Friday nights. When they disagreed or argued, they fought. And not verbally, physically. And they didn't go easy on each other. Once, Natasha ended up with a bloody nose and another time Clint had dislocated shoulder.

But that's what she wanted.

She didn't want normal.

She didn't want lovey-dovey.

She wanted _this_ with _him_.

SHIELD expanded. There was Steve Rodgers and Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes. She liked all of them, they were like older brothers to her. At least Tony and Bucky were, Steve more felt like the innocent younger brother that she needed to shelter from the world, despite the fact that he had seen probably the worst things out all of them. There was also Bobbi Morse and Sam Wilson, and she got on with them as well, then there were the twins, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff.

They fought together, both villains as well as with each other. Clint seemed to take Pietro under his wing, even if they argued most of the time. Natasha was always hesitant to trust someone knew, but she opened up eventually. He was a good ten years younger than her, but he was sweet, in a cocky and self-assured kind of way. They were busy, all the time, but Natasha always found her way back to Clint. When they weren't together, she dreamed of him—of things that they had done together and of things she wanted to do with him.

There was a night before they were about to face down HYRDA, and it was something that everyone was nervous about. No one was getting any sleep; Steve and Bucky were taking turns with a punching bag, muttering between each other. Tony had flown back to spend time with his woman, Pepper Potts. Everyone else was in their respective rooms in the SHIELD bunker, except Natasha, who was with Clint.

"Nat..." Clint took in a deep breath through his nose. "Tomorrow is going to be—"

"No, Clint," Natasha shot a glare over at him. "We're not going to do this."

"Nat, I need to say this—"

"Clint!" Natasha interrupted him again, louder this time. She stared at him for a long time and Clint knew that she knew what he was thinking. When she reached out for him, it was the softest kiss they had ever exchanged, since their first one, and it had quickly escalated. Clint buried himself in Nat, pounding into her as she stared up at him, her eyes never straying from his.

* * *

They had won the war, at least for now. Tony, Sam and Bobbi were all in ICU, under the best care possible. Bucky also wasn't in great shape, but he refused to be admitted into the hospital when his friends were in worse condition. It had been hours since Natasha had slept, her and Clint and the rest of the team were standing vigil outside the hospital rooms. Fury and Coulson tried to persuade them to go home, but they wouldn't.

Finally Natasha managed to get some sleep, falling asleep with her head resting on Clint's shoulder, sitting in the uncomfortable plastic seats.

When she woke up, she was laying next to Clint, in his bed.

That morning was the first time that Natasha would call it 'making love'. It was still rough, but there was something different as they kissed, Clint's hand running up and down her sides. His tonuge lazed over hers, his teeth brushing over her upper clip as his hands massaged her breasts. As he rocked against her, hard enough that she was on the brink of pain, the way she liked it, but this look in his eyes as he gripped her hips and pulled himself into her.

* * *

Natasha Romanov never dreamed about falling in love.

She never liked all those depictions of trusting someone explicitly with her mind, body, sanity and happiness.

But that was okay; because she had found someone who proved himself over and over to her.

She knew exactly how she felt about him.

It wasn't something she was ready to share yet, but it was something that made her stomach warm, and something that she wasn't going to let go off anytime soon.


End file.
